


Almost a Throne

by Ruis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Emotional Sex, Fantasy, Gentle Sex, Loyalty, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/pseuds/Ruis
Summary: His king is sitting atop a pile of rubble, the setting sun behind him turning his black hair into a gleaming shade of bronze, if not the gold befitting a royal. Like a statue of the sun hawk, Karun thinks, with his knife-gaze of knowledge upon the world, and divine rays illuminating the king on something that might even once have been a throne.





	Almost a Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan/gifts).



His king is sitting atop a pile of rubble, the setting sun behind him turning his black hair into a gleaming shade of bronze, if not the gold befitting a royal. Like a statue of the sun hawk, Karun thinks, with his knife-gaze of knowledge upon the world, and divine rays illuminating the king on something that might even once have been a throne. Karun sighs – he knows well how unlikely it is that the Hayn-Tzed ruins they’ve found shelter in ever held anything worthy of his ruler. And still, he manages to look like the man Karun had sworn fealty to in what seems almost another life now. It’s not in his posture, which (unconsciously, Karun assumes) is the posture of all royal statues throughout the centuries, of granite and marble and cold nobility. It’s all in his eyes, lively and sharp and almost laughing (and ever so beautiful) even in these circumstances. Karun still remembers kneeling before the throne that time three years ago, not daring to look up for fear of unwitting blasphemy, and pledging his life to the newly crowned king of all Ethreath. Karun also remembers the king accepting his oath with almost a smile in his voice that, beyond all piety and honor, won him Karun’s eternal loyalty. 

Now, Karun knows it is his duty as his king’s knight (the last one, the only one) to prepare the camp for the night. It is still early in the evening yet neither of them is in a state to go on, despite Karun’s worries. They are both dirty, tired and bruised. Their camp consists of only a blanket over a few small bushes (oh, Karun has slept in worse, but this is hardly fitting for a king, as he is uncomfortably aware) and a small fire that will keep most wild animals away. Karun knows he will have to stand watch, yet he also knows that even if by some miracle he manages to stay awake, he will be in no condition to fight if they are found. The king seems to be unfazed by all this. Inexplicably, he seems to be content watching Karun at his tasks with his hawk-gaze. It has been the king himself who made the brazen choice to stay in a place that, while currently deserted, is frequently visited by travelers seeking shelter from the night winds. “This is the last thing my dear cousin will expect”, he’d stated more calmly than strictly reasonable, “being the rat he is, he’d run far and hide deep, and he will expect the same from us. I will not hide.” Karun has been very fortunate to not discover any pursuers – he is not sure how, if it ever becomes necessary, he could openly disagree with his king. 

The king pulls out a loaf of bread from the bag he had refused to let Karun carry. “Unlike you, I never had to swear an oath to uphold the law of the throne.” he says in response to Karun’s unspoken question. “It would be quite a different world, if kings were forbidden to steal.” Karun shudders. From any other mouth, this would be dangerously close to blasphemy. Oath or no oath, Karun is deeply ashamed. He knows that if one of them had to debase himself by committing common theft, it should have been he. Still, the king seems only amused at Karun’s visible discomfort. “If it makes you feel better, I can simply legalize it. There you go.” He waves a hand. “I am the living, breathing law of Ethreath, and I say that for the heartbeat it took me to pocket that bread, stealing was legal in all the civilized realms below the throne. Happy now?” Karun knows any negation of this would be high treason, so he takes the safest option, falls to his knees and presses his forehead into the dry moss. He cannot do anything about that note in his king’s voice, that note that is not quite laughter but almost a sob. 

“Draw me a bath”, the King orders. It takes Karun a short while to proceed this. They are in the wilderness, amidst the ruins of a centuries-dead civilization, overgrown with bushes and littered with the leavings of countless travelers camping here before them. There’s certainly nothing like the royal bath… “Here”, the king unceremoniously points with his foot at a small cavity between two collapsed walls decorated with murals slowly crumbling to dust. “This will do. And I think I saw a bucket somewhere over there.” Gladly, Karun begins the task. It is hard work when his arms are already aching, but it takes his mind off darker thoughts, and for that, he is grateful. Smiling, he makes the way from camp to river to camp, again and again, always aware his king is watching him. Once, he almost stumbles and the king almost jumps from his perch on that pile of rocks, as if to catch him. Karun thinks the king almost – almost – offered to help with the water. He must have seen something in his eyes that stopped him, Karun thinks. It would have been a shame he could not have lived with. Not after failing his king so badly already. He had been able to do nothing when His Majesty (rightfully, Karun insists vehemently even in his memories, although apparently hardly anyone else had thought so) refused to bless the returning army after hearing of the fates of enemy villagers. Nothing when the victorious general, the king’s own cousin, accused him of blasphemy. Nothing when the king’s knights one by one broke their holy oaths. Karun had fought, and so had his king, yet they had barely escaped with their lives. One by one, the painful memories fade into the background, displaced by simple physical exertion.

The king’s seemingly carefree laughter makes Karun look up in surprise. “Don’t you think this is enough, my dearest knight?” Indeed, the small basin is already full to the rim, with some water overflowing and staining the king’s long trousers. Mortified, Karun begins to stammer an apology cut short when the king unceremoniously starts to undress and Karun remembers to avert his eyes only a second too late. More water seeps over the stones when the king gracefully glides into the water. Glittering droplets form on the moss. The same glittering droplets shine on his king’s skin that is a few shades darker than currently fashionable at court, glowing coppery now in the golden evening sun. Karun does his best to instead focus on a little lizard forced to leave its favorite sun spot by an offensive trickle of water. He prays his king won’t see his flush, won’t hear his heart beat twice as loud as it properly should… 

“What are you waiting for?” There is, again, that almost-smile in his king’s voice that had cost Karun his heart and might still cost him his life. “Bathe me.” That request comes so softly (almost nervously, Karun realizes) it sounds almost like a question, but of course Karun obeys it as an order, as he would obey any request made by his rightful ruler. He is at his king’s side immediately, kneeling next to the basin, and with no hesitation at all, he takes off his own shirt (what else is there, after all?), dips it into the water and runs it gently over the king’s shoulders. He removes the dust and dirt of the road and stares fascinated at the movement of his king’s back muscles as, gradually, the king relaxes (Has he been so tense before? Karun had not even noticed, and feels slightly ashamed again.) and leans into Karun’s touch. When Karun unthinkingly follows the cloth with a bare hand, the king gives no sign of protest, and still Karun tenses. He knows he has been acting out of turn. Karun bows his head. “My life is yours.” There is nothing else to say. 

Shivering, Karun waits for words of condemnation that never come. Instead, with an almost inaudible sigh, his king leans out of that small improvised pool and captures Karun’s chin in his hand. His next words come unexpected. “I’m glad it’s you, here, with me”, the king says softly, sounding almost vulnerable. “Of all the people who could have betrayed me… I’m glad you did not.” Karun flinches as if hit. He could never have betrayed his beloved king, wants to say so, desperately struggles to find those so very important words, yet his mouth is dry and his wit completely deserts him. Embarrassingly, what comes out is a quiet whimper, and he realizes he has been rubbing his cheek against his king’s hand. To Karun’s surprise, the king does not seem to mind. With his other hand, his king draws him towards the basin, and his expression – genuinely vulnerable now, more open than Karun can remember - tells Karun that his king does not need an answer requiring words. He knows. Had in fact, judging by that almost-smile of his, known of Karun’s feelings for quite a long time. When the king captures him in that hawk gaze of his (sun hawk, Karun can’t help but think again), Karun realizes. Off balance, Karun almost stumbles into the water (unworthy of a royal knight, is one of his last coherent thoughts) and only his king’s arms steady him. He is aware he is uncomfortably hard and his trousers are starting to be in the way – gently but urgently, his king helps him out of them – and then he is in the water with his king who could never be mistaken for a statue right now. Too alive is his expression, too wide his eyes, too fast his breath. Karun would not want to end this, even if he could. Instead, he picks up the discarded cloth again and gathers all his courage. “Let me bathe you properly, then”, he whispers, stepping behind his king.

Again, Karun gently rubs his king’s shoulders, but this time, his other hand follows the same path unerringly, and, after only a second’s hesitation, so does his mouth. He takes the liberty of kissing his king’s shoulder blades (amazed the gods do not immediately strike him down for his daring), playing with the tips of a few strands of wet black hair and inhaling his king’s smell, he kisses the small scars left by wounds obtained in their desperate flight through rows of royal soldiers (no, not royal anymore, usurper soldiers now, Karun reminds himself sternly even now), he licks along his king’s spine, happily soaking up the small hums that are the main indication that his king is, in fact, enjoying this as much as Karun does, nervousness subsiding. Karun’s hand with the cloth has wandered deeper now, below the water’s surface, rubbing the small of his king’s back, and he is still slightly hesitant to go further (this is the king, after all!), but yet again, his king surprises him by grabbing his wrist and leading it down. And yet, his king’s hands are shaking… Slowly, very slowly Karun begins to massage his king’s entrance with the wet cloth, hoping the sensation would be pleasurable. The king relaxes even further in Karun’s arms. His eyes are closed now, his head thrown back, and his fast breaths have turned to gasps. The last rays of the setting sun turn his face into an unearthly play of light and shadows. He has never been as beautiful as right in this moment, Karun thinks. 

“Sun hawk”, Karun murmurs quietly, and only when the king blinks and turns around in his arms, Karun realizes he had spoken aloud. Quietly, the king laughs. “Coming from you, that is surprisingly blasphemous.” When Karun opens his mouth to apologize for speaking inappropriately (absurd, he realizes after a second, but he can’t be expected to think clearly right now), his king again manages to take his breath away – this time with a kiss. And then others following the first. Soon, Karun is whimpering again, between kisses when they both come up for a breath of air before kissing again. And again. Only gradually, Karun becomes aware he is, in fact, grinding his hips. Now laughing as well (is this what being truly free is like? He wonders) he takes his king’s and his own cock into one hand and begins to stroke. His king doesn’t last long. Within a few minutes, Karun feels the king stiffen in his arms, feels the exhalation of breath on his face, gently holds his king while he shivers (holy, Karun thinks, this is holy) and equally gently caresses his hair that is turned into a halo by the moonlight. Moonlight? Karun fleetingly realizes he has completely lost track of time, has missed the sun setting and the moon rising, but those things don’t matter right now – what matters is the beautiful man (his king, he’d never forget that!) in his arms, smiling at him. What matters is the heat in both their eyes, still. 

Both laughing now and kissing freely, they stumble out of the basin, the water being almost gone by now anyway. In unspoken agreement, they lie down on the ground together, skin on skin, surrounded by the comforting smell of dry moss rewettened. For the first time, Karun has the peace of mind to notice how beautiful and serene the place really is. The ruins, so desolate in daytime, are mercifully given back some of their old dignity in the softer shine of the moon. The Hayn-Tzed used to build their castles oriented towards the north star, and Karun is now looking for it, intending to point it out. His king, however, has other plans. Without speaking, he presses a small vial of oil into Karun’s hand, his eyes wordlessly pleading. Karun does not want to know where exactly that little vial of oil came from, but he has learned his king is a resourceful man indeed. Grabbing Karun’s hand and guiding it over his body, the king looks as regal and composed as ever, yet Karun knows he can’t be quite as calm as he seems. And even while on the run, the true king of Ethreath, ruler of the civilized world, has planned this, Karun knows now. The thought is enough to bring tears to Karun’s eyes, but it is only when a gust of wind chills his face that he notices he is crying. His king, again, understands him without words. With, again, that almost-smile of his (oh, the smile of a god, no doubt) he draws Karun on top of him and, again, kisses him deeply.

Answering that unspoken plea, Karun takes his time making love to his king. Slowly, he covers his king’s body with his own, as if to protect him from the rapidly cooling air. Slowly, he opens him with his fingers, waiting for that precious moment of relaxation, and smiling when it comes with a sharp intake of breath. Very gently he searches for that spot that makes men spread their legs, drawing more of those sweet gasps and little hums from his king, and always, always, taking care that none of those sounds are from pain. He admires the king’s courage – he is almost certain his king has not done this before, and yet there is no fear, no hesitation. Karun has never seen the king noticeably afraid – not when defying the whole nation with his head held high, not when running from fighters he would have believed loyal only one day before, and he doesn’t seem afraid now. Karun knows his king could never accept a show of (and even less, Karun thinks, his own acknowledgement of) something he would consider a weakness. He will accept this courage as it is, and without questioning, Karun decides.

And still, Karun is gentle. Hurting his king is the last thing he wants, now or ever. So gently he lifts his king’s legs, and very gently (he knows he is not small) he enters him, taking note of every moan and every shiver. He only starts moving in earnest when he is entirely sure the noise is only pleasure. Even then, he notices every little noise, every movement his lover (his king, Karun never forgets) makes, every breath becoming the most important thing in the world. He is crying again, unashamedly. His lover (king!) meets his eyes and Karun realizes he is not alone in his tears. For a moment he is afraid he has been too large, or too rough, has inadvertently hurt his king (lover!), but no, he realizes. Kissing his face, Karun does the only thing left to him as a reassurance. Quietly, murmuring against his lover’s skin, he begins to recite the holy oath of loyalty. The words come slowly at first – it has been a long time since he last spoke them, and of course he has not forgotten a single word (as if he ever could!), yet the familiar phrases feel different now on his lips and in his mind. It should always have been spoken like this, Karun feels, words made unintelligible by kisses (yet true in their meaning, always true) and deep thrusts as punctuation and the claws of the soaring sun hawk on his back (so holy) even in the middle of the night... And then all the words are gone. 

Afterwards, Karun cleans up both of them with the rest of the bath water, using his shirt again (will he have to start treating it as a holy relic now? he wonders briefly) while his king sits elevated on a piece of collapsed wall. Karun can not quite decipher his king’s almost-smile - it looks softer in the moonlight and less knife-sharp, yet Karun knows the light of the moon can be deceiving. Surely his king is sharp as ever, fierce as ever, even now, the sad pile of rubble now truly becoming almost a throne for him. And yet… This might be his king’s first wholehearted smile Karun has ever seen, he realizes. “Did you realize?”, the king asks, pointing at a mural that incredibly had stayed intact throughout the centuries. “That story there, I read it as a child. It is the legend of a dethroned king and his last loyal knight, taking an empire back from an usurper.” He laughs loudly. “Let us take this as an omen.” Again, there is only one proper way for Karun to answer – but when he starts speaking the first words of his oath again, he is stopped with a kiss.


End file.
